


Kiss Kiss Fall In Love

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Kissing, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:05:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short kissing prompts from tumblr!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. French kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I felt these deserved their own separate post, but I did, so here we are.

Bellamy is muttering under his breath, which isn’t exactly unusual. As a roommate, he’s–interesting. Fun to hang out with, most of the time, in the ideal roommate way, meaning he likes to hang out on the couch and watch weird shit on Netflix, relatively clean, and nice to look out. Talking to himself isn’t exactly a positive, but Clarke finds it pretty endearing. Like most things about Bellamy. Which is why he’s more interesting than good, as a roommate, because everything about him is endearing, and she’s very, very endeared.

His running monologue is usually sort of a vague narration of what he’s doing, or what he needs to do, grumbling about dishes, planning lessons for the next day out loud, that kind of thing. Clarke likes it as white noise, zones out the content and just enjoys the low rumble of his voice.

And then she realizes, with amusement, that he’s  _singing,_ absent-mindedly, as he grades papers.

“Oui, oui, mon ami, je m’appelle Lafayette,” she makes out distinctly, and she breaks out giggling.

“What?” he asks, frowning.

“You’re singing.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re singing  _in French_ ,” she says, triumphant.

“I am definitely not.”

“I totally took French in high school.  _Yes, yes, friend, my name is Lafayette_. You were definitely singing about–I have no idea. But you were singing.”

He turns red. “You were imagining things.”

“I wasn’t. French singing. About Lafayette. It was adorable.”

“Okay, no. No way,” he protests. “Let’s pretend for a minute I  _was_  singing.”

“Which you were.”

“Those are Lafayette’s intro lines from  _Hamilton_ , and Lafayette isn’t  _cute_. He’s a fucking badass. If I was singing that–which, again, I wasn’t–it wouldn’t have been cute. It would have been devastatingly hot. I’m pretty straight, but Daveed Diggs as Lafayette can get it.”

“So you’re saying if you were singing that, it would mean you could get it?” Clarke asks, tapping her chin.

“Yes.”

“But you weren’t. Singing that.”

Bellamy’s brain seems to catch up with the conversation, and he flushes darker. “I don’t even know how to answer that question.” There’s a pause. “Is there a response that results in me getting it?”

They’ve definitely been building to this for a while, and Clarke figures–yeah, it’s time. She slides into his lap. “The French thing is kind of doing it for me.”

Bellamy grins, sliding his hands up her sides. “I came from afar just to say bonsoir–” he murmurs, soft, and Clarke leans in to press her mouth against his, slow and easy, for all of five seconds, and then he groans and tugs her closer, kissing her wet and deep and perfect.

“Wow,” she says, when he finally lets her go.

“French kiss,” he says, smug. “Seemed appropriate.”

“Shut up,” she says, and leans back in for another one.


	2. "We can never be together" kiss

“That’s not how you do it!” snaps Clarke.

“I think I know how to kiss someone,” Bellamy says, crossing his arms over his chest. They’ve been rehearsing this stupid kiss for half an hour, and he never thought he’d be so unhappy to be kissing a pretty girl. But he hasn’t murdered her yet, and he thinks he deserves some credit for that. “Better than you do.”

“Oh my god,” says Clarke, clearly just as fed up as he is. “This isn’t a fucking _competition_ , Bellamy! It’s about–you’re not the one who’s kissing me, okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

Clarke looks down at her script. Bellamy was less than thrilled when he found out Clarke was going to be his costar in the stupid play–which he only even auditioned for because Miller dared him to–and they’d have to kiss, and it’s even worse because Clarke takes it so fucking  _seriously_ , which means he has to too, because there’s no way he’s going to let her show him up.

“You have to think about your motivation. It’s a Romeo-and-Juliet variant. This is our goodbye kiss. This is–we can’t be together. As far as you know, this is your last chance to see me. This is  _goodbye_ , Bellamy. You can’t just kiss me like you dragged me behind the bleachers for a quickie.”

There’s a wistful catch in her voice, something that tugs at him. He doesn’t know Clarke, really. She’s one of those over-achievers, in his classes even though she’s a year younger than he is because her parents are rich and influential and willing to yell at the school board until they get what they want. But there’s something genuine in her he’s found over the last couple months of rehearsal, a kind of pain that he wishes he knew more about.

That he wishes he could soothe, if he’s honest.

“That’s not where I have my quickies,” he says, mostly because he wants to make her smile.

She doesn’t, quite, but she rolls her eyes and looks like she  _wants_  to smile, so he’ll count it. “I’m just saying, this is the kind of kiss you give someone because you’ll never get to kiss them again. You need to sell that, and you’re not. You’re kissing me like you’re going to keep doing it, not like this is the end for us. But it is. The audience needs to feel that, or it won’t work.”

It hits Bellamy right in his chest, because–it is the end, isn’t it? The play will open in a few weeks, and they’ll have four shows, and then it’ll be over. He and Clarke don’t talk outside of rehearsal, even now. Once this is done, they’ll go back to their lives, their  _separate_  lives.

“Okay,” he says, wiping his hands on his jeans. He’s going to miss her, and that’s awful, but that’s his motivation. These are the only moments he’s going to get with Clarke Griffin. “I get it. Do the line.”

“ _My father’s calling_ ,” she says, looking over her shoulder like she sees him. “ _I have to go. Be safe, Victor, I–_ ” She makes a choked noise, looks away.

“ _Irene_ ,” he says, takes her wrist, careful, and leans down to kiss her, soft, gentle, fucking  _tender_. He’s never kissed anyone like he’s kissing Clarke Griffin now. He wants her to stay, but he knows she won’t, and it’s easy to kiss her like she’s breaking his heart.

He might be fucked.

“Better?” he asks, voice a little husky, when he pulls back.

“Yeah,” says Clarke. It might just be his imagination, but he thinks she sounds breathless too. “Perfect. Just like that.”


	3. Kiss on the neck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M!

“You’re nervous,” Octavia croons.

“Shut up,” says Bellamy. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re nervous. You’re  _cooking_.”

“It’s breakfast. I’m hungry. You’re reading a lot into cooking.”

“Last night you finally– _finally_ –hooked up with Clarke. After  _years_  of sexual tension. And now you’re nervous that she’s going to freak out and dump you before you can even start dating her, so you’re making breakfast to convince her to love you.”

“Do I even need to participate in this conversation, or do you think you already know all my lines?” Bellamy asks. She’s right, of course, but he can’t  _say_  that. That would be embarrassing.

“I think it’s probably better for your scheme if I’m not here. But act casual, okay? Don’t bring her breakfast in bed with a rose on the tray or something. There’s a fine line between charming and desperate.”

“Thanks for your support.”

Clarke hasn’t emerged by the time he finishes the food, so he does put it on a plate and bring it into the bedroom, but with no rose. Hooking up is friends is potentially awkward; pancakes might make it less awkward.

She’s stretched out on the bed still, wearing just her underwear, one hand on her breast, the other between her legs. Bellamy doesn’t drop the plate, but it’s a close thing.

“I, uh–” he starts. “I brought pancakes, but you’re busy, so–”

She jerks up, blushing, and Bellamy keeps his eyes on her face with an effort. “You’re still here,” she says, bringing her arm up to cover her breasts.

“Yeah, sorry. I was–cooking,” he says. “It made sense at the time, but–” He rubs the back of his neck. “I guess it probably looked like I left.”

Clarke catches her lip with her teeth and drops her arm. “Well, I was just reliving last night, since I figured I wasn’t going to get to do it again.”

“Oh,” he says, swallowing hard. He puts the plate down on her dresser and takes another step into the room. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I was at the part where you were sucking on my neck, if you want to help out.”

He makes it to the bed in two tripping steps, presses her down and kisses her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, nuzzles the soft skin under her ear.

“I was going to win you over with pancakes,” he says, nipping her pulse point gently. “I had this whole plan worked out.”

“Leaving bed is definitely the wrong way to win me over,” she says, tilting her head to give him maximum access. “Who needs pancakes when you can make out?”

“They’re really good pancakes,” he protests.

They’re cold by the time Clarke eats them, but she assures him that they really are.


	4. Jealous kiss

Honestly, there is no good reason for Bellamy to be jealous of Finn.

For one thing, he (Bellamy) is currently sleeping with Clarke, and Finn is not. For another, Clarke still hates Finn, as far as he knows; Finn’s here because he’s Raven’s best friend and Raven forgave him, but last Bellamy heard, Clarke is still neither forgiving nor forgetting. 

But, well, she is  _talking_  to Finn. And she dated Finn, and she’s not dating Bellamy. Not that Bellamy has asked. They have a good thing going; they’re friends who have awesome sex, and that’s fine, really. Bellamy is very happy with it. He doesn’t want to disturb the delicate ecosystem of their relationship. What he has of Clarke is so good, he doesn’t want to risk it.

Most of their friends have told him he’s a coward; then again, when he asks if they have these conversations with  _her_ , the answer is always no, so he thinks he’s justified. Everyone thinks (knows) he’s in love with her, but they don’t seem to know she feels the same.

Clarke smiles at something Finn says, and Finn’s smile kicks up ten notches, like he thinks it’s some great achievement to get Clarke to crack a smile. It was, back when the two of them dated, because Clarke’s dad had recently passed away and she was having issues with her mom, but it’s been three years since then, and Clarke is doing better. She smiles all the time now.

Because of people like Bellamy. Not people like Finn.

“You’re going to burn a hole in Finn’s skull if you keep staring,” says Octavia.

“Good,” he mutters.

Finn offers Clarke his hand, like he wants her to dance with him, and that’s about as much as Bellamy can take.

“Here,” he says, shoving his drink at his sister. “I’m done.”

Clarke is clearly turning Finn down, but Bellamy can hear him say, “Just one dance?” in this hopeful voice, and–

Yeah, Bellamy is jealous. There’s no reason this dick should get to ask Clarke to dance and he can’t.

“Hey,” he says, sliding his arm around Clarke’s waist. She relaxes against him instantly, and Bellamy smiles. “Sorry I’m late.” He slides his hand under her chin, tilts her head up, and gives her a slow, long kiss. They don’t kiss very often, and when they do it’s usually frantic, hot and wet, a prelude to other things.

This is the kiss he’s always wanted to give her, warm and possessive, and his heart stutters when she responds instantly, wrapping her hand around his neck and kissing him like he’s all she wants too.

“Took you long enough,” she says, with a smile, when he remembers they’re in public and makes himself pull back. She leans against his shoulder as she turns back to Finn, but he’s apparently been scared off. “I was trying to tell him I had a boyfriend,” she says. “I guess he’s more of a visual learner.”

Bellamy presses his lips against her hair. He’s going to have trouble keeping his mouth off her for a while, which will be awkward, since they’re at a party. But he’ll live. “That’s what you told him?”

She smiles. “I do, right?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”


	5. Shy kiss

It’s cute, really, how slow Bellamy is taking it.

“We’re friends,” he says. “I don’t want to screw that up moving too fast. If something goes wrong and we can’t hang out anymore, Octavia will kill me. And then Raven will figure out a way to resurrect me so I can get killed again.”

“I have a lot of questions about that.”

Bellamy waves his hand from the stove. He’s making her dinner, because he says that cooking is his best way to impress girls. It’s sweet, of course, but–it’s a little weird too. “Go ahead.”

“Why are just you getting killed? Can’t I be the one who broke your heart and gets killed? It seems kind of patronizing that the guy’s always the one getting killed. And that other people have to do it for me. Can’t I take care of my own murder?”

“I’m the one who’d screw it up,” he says, with this strange awkwardness in his voice that Clarke hates. This is their third date, and he’s being so careful. He hasn’t even kissed her yet.

She gets out of her chair and goes over to lean against his side, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “Bell.”

“What? I would.”

“You’re treating this like an audition, you know? Like you’re trying to convince me to be your girlfriend. But you already got me, remember? You asked me out, I said yes.” She bumps her nose against his shoulder. “I said yes because I like you too. And I want to  _date you_. This is nice, but I was kind of hoping it would be less like hanging out one-on-one and more like, you know.  _Dating_.”

He looks down at her. “I really like you,” he admits. “I don’t want to scare you off.”

“We’ve been friends for four years. If I’m not scared yet, why would I start now? And I want you. I know how much this could screw up. I know your little sister will murder  _me_  if I hurt you. But I finally  _get you_. It would be really cool if you started acting like that was happening, instead of getting spooked every time you come close to being attracted to me.”

“I’m always attracted to you,” he says, automatic, and then he looks down at her. “I’m pretty nervous about this,” he admits. “I didn’t think you were gonna say yes when I asked you.”

“Well, I did, so–” She wets her lips, feeling surprisingly self-conscious herself. Bellamy adores her, it’s clear, so–this is the kind of thing she can do. She catches her jaw with her fingers, leans up and kisses him. His mouth is warm and soft, opens on a small, surprised noise, but Clarke doesn’t try to deepen the kiss. He isn’t kissing her back, and it’s shitty to try to kiss someone who doesn’t want to kiss you back. “Like I said, I like y–” she starts, pulling back, feeling an embarrassed flush rushing up her neck. How can he  _not_  want to kiss her?

And then he groans, pushes her against the counter, and proves that, yes, he really,  _really_  wants to kiss her. 

He’s very convincing.

“If you screw this up, I’m definitely going to murder you,” she says, breathless. 

He smiles, presses his lips to the corner of her mouth, shy again. “Yeah, so–let’s not screw up. Right?”

“Right,” she agrees, and leans back against him as he checks the food.


	6. Kiss on the nose/kiss on the forehead

 

“This is the worst, I’m dying,” says Clarke from the couch. She is never going to leave this couch. She’s going to die on this couch. Soon.

“Didn’t you nearly become a doctor?” Bellamy asks, unsympathetic. “Shouldn’t you know that you’re not dying of–what, a cold? Why did you even get out of bed?”

“Because I didn’t know how bad I felt until I got up.”

That’s enough to get him to finally come over, and she forgives him for his neglect when she sees he has a steaming mug in his hands. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice gentle. “Not just a cold?”

“I think it might be the flu. I feel hot.”

“You are hot,” he says, with a smirk.

“Thanks. That’s exactly the kind of boyfriendly support I was looking for.”

“Drink the tea,” he says. “Do we have a thermometer?”

“Probably.”

He snorts. “Okay, do we know where the thermometer is?”

“No.” She struggles up to a sitting position and takes the tea. It’s hot and sweet, heavy with honey, and she closes her eyes in pleasure. “You’re my favorite.”

“I assumed that’s why we were dating.” She feels his lips press against her forehead. “Okay, yeah, Jesus, you have a fever. Drink all the tea.”

“What are you, the forehead whisperer?”

“That’s how my mom used to tell when I was a kid,” he says. “Also, it’s fucking _obvious_. I know how warm you usually are, by this point. I’m pretty familiar with your temperature. Did you call work?”

“Not yet. I left my phone in the bedroom.”

“You’re a fucking disaster. Tea!”

Clarke has to smile, just a little. Bellamy is the grumpiest caretaker of all time; it’s adorable. She also has to have more tea, because it’s really helping. Best boyfriend ever. 

“Here, call work,” he says, giving her her phone and also a blanket. “I’m going to go get supplies. What do you like when you’re sick? I’m already getting chicken broth and stuff for soup, so that’s set.”

“You have work.”

“You’re  _sick_. I can take a day.”

If she was feeling even a tiny bit better, she’d argue with him. “Vanilla ice cream for my throat,” she says instead. “And cranberry juice.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, and leans down to kiss her on the nose, like that _isn’t_  ridiculous. “I’ll be back soon.”

“You would not kiss me on the nose if you knew how much weird stuff it’s doing right now.”

“Yeah, I would. I love you, that’s how it works. Your nose does weird stuff and I kiss it anyway. That’s what love is. Drink your goddamn tea.”

Clarke snuggles into the blanket and does as she’s told. If she’s going to be sick and miserable, at least she’s got backup.


	7. Surprised kiss

Bellamy is still looking around, totally frantic, when Clarke and Octavia get back to the atrium. It had been sheer luck that she ran into him, mid-freak out, casting around for his sister, who’d wandered away from him while they were shopping.

“Okay,” said Clarke. “Is this where you last saw her?”

“Yeah, she was right here, fucking–”

“I’m going to go look for her,” she said firmly. He’d showed her pictures on his phone, in case she’d seen her; it shouldn’t be too hard to spot a lone, brown-haired ten year old. “You stay here, and text me if she shows up. If she’s looking for you, she’ll probably look here.”

“Okay,” he said, letting out a breath. “Thanks, Clarke.”

Octavia had been the first place she looked, because apparently her teenage-girl instincts are prefect. She was buying her brother a Christmas present and didn’t want him to see, and she swears up and down she told him she’d just be a second. Clarke has no intention of getting involved in that argument.

In fact, she’s basically planning to disappear as soon as the Blake siblings are reunited; she likes Bellamy–likes him a lot, honestly–and she’d love to spend more time him, but he’s clearly preoccupied.

“Oh holy fuck, thank god,” he says, when he spots them. But instead of immediately yelling at Octavia like she expected, he turns to Clarke and says, “Jesus, you’re a lifesaver,” picks her up, and kisses her.

It takes her a second, but she’s not going to waste an opportunity to make out with Bellamy, so she wraps her arms around him and kisses back.

“So this is the Clarke from your history class you have a thing for,” says Octavia, pointed, and Bellamy finally pulls back. “I mean, I figured, but I’m glad we confirmed it. Nice to meet you, Clarke.”

Bellamy is blushing, which is basically the best thing. “Thanks, O. That was really helpful.”

“It was pretty obvious,” says Octavia.

“I usually say you’re the guy in my English class I have a thing for,” Clarke offers, and Bellamy smiles.

“I like history more than English.” He glances at his sister. “We’re going to look for something for our mom. Want to come?”

She laces their fingers together. Just so she doesn’t lose him. “Love to.”


End file.
